Cooking class
by King Ro
Summary: Hibari and Gokudera assigned themselves to the hardest mission. Well, that was a bit exaggerated. A bit. –For Citrus Sunscreen–


**Cooking class**

**Pairings.** TYL! 6918-mainly + TYL! 8059-implied

OOC.

**Genres.** Humor, crack, epic.

_I don't own KHR. Mukuro-sama and Hibari-san belong to Amano and belong to each other. Same goes for Yamamoto-kun and Gokudera-kun._

-_King Ro_-

**Note.** My second fanfic in Eng, thank you for reading. Reviews, comments and criticisms are always welcome. Hope you enjoy it.

**Dedicated to Citrus Sunscreen**, thank you for listening to me, it was fun talking with you. Also I appreciate that you are 6918 fan and wrote so many 'mazing fanfics.

* * *

**.Prologue.**

Thoroughly compare, we can see how the Cloud and Storm have too many in common. Both are mean, quick-tempered, headstrong, violent. Both love destroying things and beating the crap outta people. Both loathe the stupid and troublesome kind—

—which, unfortunately, turn out to be _exactly_ what their partners are.

**.**

Now drift back to the main topic.

Hibari Kyouya – an _awfully **Japanese**_ man - furiously stomps out the destroyed kitchen, inwardly curses the damn complexity of Italian cuisine.

And Gokudera Hayato – an _awfully** Italian**_ man - angrily stormed out the bombed kitchen, outwardly screws the fucking confusion of Japanese cuisine.

So, what are we going to do?

* * *

-x-x-

.flashback.

One day, Hibari decided to cook Italian food. Not that Mukuro ever asked him for, the ex-prefect was simply curious, like-to what extent could his perfection go, and took it as a challenge. Well, just how would a plate of _pasta_ or a bowl of _zuppa_ be more difficult than some _massacre_ missions anyway?

That same day, Gokudera decided to make Japanese meal. Not that Yamamoto ever asked him for, the right-hand man simply wanted to prove that _Bianchi's cursed genes_ can't affect his ability to cook. As he had nicely done some Italian dishes, he supposed he can beat it. Japanese meal? Nah just _a piece of cake_.

And so, with cooking flame blazed up, the domestic men started their first trials - still denied the fact that they _did_ cook for a certain someone.

Afterward, Hibari threatened to shove a tonfa down Mukuro's throat if he can't stop asking _Is it the legendary Mangiare-e-uccidere [Eat-and-kill] pasta._ Gokudera ordered Yamamoto to just eat the freaking sushi or he will blow him up without leave any shred.

The illusionist and the swordman trusted everything in their luck.

"_Buon appetito."_

"_Itadakimasu_."

Next morning, both Mist and Rain Guardian took a day off for the same reason: stomach ache. To be precise, Mukuro's stomach was _almost_ being _perforated_, while Yamamoto's has_ poisoned vinegar_.

The Cloud and the Storm seemed even grumpier than usual.

That was a pain in ass.

.end flashback.

* * *

Vongola headquarter, several days after the incident, Mukuro and Yamamoto coincidentally walk into each other, still look pale and could barely stand straight. The men then share some kind of a _husbands' c__hat_ in the hall, probably unaware that their deadly _wives_ might be somewhere around.

"Good morning, Mukuro. How are you? I heard we were off the same day, same reason?" Yamamoto waves his hand as greetings, laughing happily like usual.

"'Morning. Well, my digestive system was _nearly_ ruined, but I'm still alive. What about you? I see that you do look better than the day you had surgery." Mukuro greets back with a grin.

"Haha, I didn't think it could be that bad. Gokudera's sushi rolls were … edible, you know." Yamamoto dryly gulps, somehow unsure about what he's talking.

"I shall praise your bravery. " The illusionist provides a sarcastic tone in his phrase. "As one sushi bar owner's son you must know enough about sushi than anyone else. Yet you still swallowed that—I hesitate to call 'sushi', more like 'overvinegar-ed uncooked rice'—down your throat, _while_ maintaining your hearty smile."

"How did you—" The swordman thoughtfully scratches his head as he recalls. "Ah right, you're an illusionist."

"Since we were in the same situation, I suppose I should feel sym_pathetic_ for you."

"Guess so, haha." Yamamoto obviously doesn't realize the mocking tone, still smiling ever so friendly. "And you? I heard from Chrome that they found something _bubbling_ on your stomach. Took them a while to detect whether it _was _your stomach though."

He slightly shrugs. "Don't really know. Could be pasta, or spaghetti, maybe a new weapon Kyouya just created. It looks somewhat like, a combination of wasn't-al-dente* spaghetti, overcooked bacons, burned cheese and—what was it again, can't even identify that thing. I got the feeling I had just eaten his handcuff."

The Mist amusingly describes the meal's outlook with his popping illusions, apparently way too amused for someone who had to replace his damaged, _real_ stomach with illusionary organ.

"You still ate **it**?" Yamamoto questions impressively, eyes widen in shock. At least Gokudera, nonetheless, had the sushi in shape, just _unEarthy__-taste_.

"Why, his content face is invaluable, compare to my _replaceable_ stomach. I'd please him no matter how much it costs." Mukuro exclaims proudly. Though even _he_ must've known, not any man has replaceable stomach. "Mmhm. I bet you ate that octopus head's cooking for the same reason, correct?"

The swordman nods, replies with all honesty. "Because, normally you would want to make your lover happy, wouldn't you?"

"I suppose." Mukuro lets out a rare smile. "Oya, Kyouya will scold me for being late again." He randomly notes at the time, chuckles lightly. How he loves pissing Hibari off. That pouting face is the most adorable.

"Then, I should be on my way too. I have a date with Gokudera-kun." Yamamoto waves his hand off. "Take care."

"Good luck."

"Haha, thank you."

The men then dismiss, unbeknownst that their little conversation has been overheard by a fuming (slightly blushed) Cloud Guardian, and a gritting (extremely embarrassing) Storm Guardian.

_You are SO dead now, baka. _

-x-x-

Hibari could never imagine how knocking Mukuro down could be _that_ easy. Normally he will be more than pleased to bite that fraudulent illusionist to dead. But _this_, this is not a glorious victory, at all. He doesn't even _intended _to knock the bastard down, not with his food. The pineapple head should **_not_** fall off the chair and writhe in pain after eating his cook.

It's just … unexpected, and unpleasant.

As if Hibari Kyouya would lose to such a shitty challenge.

On Gokudera's side, same thing crosses his head. The sight of Yamamoto rolling on the floor and trying so hard to hold back his scream, as if he was about to _puke __the__ guts out_ anytime. When Gokudera replays this scene, he knows right away, that he failed the mission miserably.

Bianchi is going to haunt him for the rest of this life.

As if Gokudera Hayato would give in to such hellish genes.

_P__roblem is: The awfully Japanese Hibari Kyouya has an Italian as his __partner__._

_And__ the awfully Italian Gokudera Hayato has a Japanese as his lover._

* * *

-x-x-

It is a peaceful day so far until Hibari and Gokudera go 'BAM' at the corner of the corridors, probably too focusing on their books to recognize someone is coming. They exchange threat glares as carefullu sitting up, immediately pose in fighting stance.

"Watch where you're going, bastard." Gokudera hisses, readies to light his bombs.

"Shut it or I'll bite you to death, herbivore." Hibari is clearly in mad mood. The pair of tonfas flaring in dangerous purple flame. No more provoking talk, they take steps forward and start attacking each other. The fight quickly comes to end when they both trip comically on something hard, barely manage to keep the balance.

That is also when they realize their dropped possessions from before—the books—are lying unattentively on the floor.

Gokudera bursts out laughing the moment he sees Hibari's book cover.

"What do we have here? _The _Cloud Guardian carries a cookbook around! _Italian cuisine_ on top of it!"

Mahogany eyes twitch in annoyance.

"Look at yourself. _All about Japanese recipes_?"

Hibari points at the title of Gokudera's book, somehow feels secured at the fact that he's not the only guardian carrying a cookbook around. Even Lambo doesn't, mind you. The Italian indeed pales a bit, but reverts to his composure pretty quickly.

"I'm just bringing it to the Tenth, per Ms. Kyoko's request." Gokudera finds his ability to lie under circumstances a huge advantage. It comes out quite handy in these case. "But you, _oh my_, can't imagine. I wonder who _made_ you bought that?"

Unaware (probably uncare) of the increasing murderous aura around Hibari, the Storm goes on dwelling. Let's get thing straight, it had been _ages_ since the very last time he could mock Hibari (to be exact, _a whole decade_, back then the news about He Who Owns Namimori and He Who Leads Kokuyou gone out was quite a scandal.)

"Right, I overheard Yamamoto and _your bastard_ the other day. Poor pineapple, he surely had suffered by your existence _and_ your cooking."

Hibari's endurance ran out this instant.

Then again, does he _even_ have endurance?

"Wao, the 'overvinegar-ed uncooked rice' boy really tries to sound tough."

The Japanese retorts, for the first time ever does he agree with Mukuro's sarcasm. It _does_ feel, somehow, guaranteed when being on his side, especially in an _argument_. 'Verbal fight' he prefers.

Gokudera's face heats up at the statement, _nearly_ fumes.

Oh forget it, he fumes.

"Talking like a smartass! At least my sushi got shapes, unlike your 'unidentify things'."

"At least _I_ know how to cook _proper _Japanese food."

"At least _I_ can cook Italian food _better_ than you fucker!"

Wait what?

They halt for a while, then both ask in unison.

**.**

"_What did you just say_?"

**.**

_There__ i__s always __some __way to solve the problem._

* * *

-x-x-

The day after, the Cloud and Storm find themselves stuck together in Vongola main estate's kitchen. Gokudera still hasn't quite get it, since the flow proceeds in a _too-__E.T__-to-catch-up_way; approximately equals to level eighteen on Mukuro's weirdness scale [yes the man has his own weirdness scale!]. And it's a high HIGH level.

"So you're saying, I will teach you to cook Italian food, and you show me how to make Japanese dish?"

"Choose your word carefully, herbivore. Think you have the right to _teach_ me?". The raven looks like he's going to chop Gokudera into thin slices.

"What? Wanna fight?" The hot-headed Storm switches in _Bring-it-on_ mode almost instinctively. And wielding tonfa is Hibari's wordless response.

Regardless the seemingly peaceful start (those two in the same place without talk-fight for approximately four good minutes), everything winds up just the way it supposed to be.

So, for the first day of cooking class, no progress. If you'd call a blown-up kitchen, half-ruined building and numerous bystanders hospitalized some kind of progress (mafia-ness development for example), then maybe there is. Other than that, nope.

Second day. Same thing.

Third day. Same thing.

Fourth day. Same thing.

Now they don't even care to count.

-x-x-

"Kyouya, what happened to you recently?"

Hibari just comes back home and changes into his favourite black yukata, mildly snorts when a certain illusionist wraps arms around his waist from behind.

"It's good deed that counts, don't worry. What if you can't cook Italian food? You're doing just fine as a wonderful Japanese chef."

Mukuro cups Hibari's cheeks, brushes his lips on the pale white neck, purposely leaving noticeable hickeys. The black-haired man doesn't even bother to ask why the illusionist knows about his damned challenge. It's Rokudou Mukuro we're talking about anyway.

"Get off, herbivore. Don't kiss me with your filthy mouth."

Hibari struggles to get away from the hug, but Mukuro's grip just tightens. He maliciously nips the Japanese's earlobe, purrs in his dangerously deep voice.

"Are you angry because of the little conversation I had with that Rain Guardian couple days ago? Now now, my bad, but I was just so proud."

"Proud of what? Quit spouting nonsense."

"Having the prideful Cloud Guardian cooking for me, who else has this privilege?"

Mukuro chuckles as he holds Hibari closer. Warm breath tickling the black-haired man's side-ear, causes heat to color his cheeks.

"You're busy and still manage to make daily meals, and also _be the meal_. As a domestic **_wife_**, you have completed your task quite properly. "

Little flattered by the statement, Hibari doesn't let one particular word flee away from his sharp ears.

"The _heck_ did you just say?"

"Oops, did I slip my tongue?"

Mukuro puts on an innocent face and sheepish tone. To his bad luck, his lover was never a _take__-it__-__easy_ type.

"Try to repeat and see my tonfa slip?"

"Ow, I will skip that."

The illusionist laughes, but for once does he agree to stop teasing Hibari, since it is rare for said skylark to initiately sit on his lap; head resting comfortably on broad chest, looking sleepy even.

How adorable.

"Say, Mukuro," After a while, Hibari starts, breaking through the peaceful silence. "Do you prefer Italian food or Japanese food? The latter, right? "

Any form of _No_ would kill him right now, and the skylark's voice when he purrs '_right?_' is just so—damn _Yes_.

"Why, but of course. Of course, dear."

Mukuro cooing, though a glimpse of unwillingness still gets caught by Hibari nonetheless.

Obviously, the illusionist is Italian. Even if he has a Japanese name, speaks Japanese too fluently, goes so far as having a Japanese as his lover and residents in Japan, his root is still Italian. As matter of fact, Mukuro would like Italian food more. His stomach grows by feeding on it since childhood, [although the _real_ one was demolished in one blow, the fake shoud be no different], it's only natural, as matter of fact.

The thought disturbes Hibari a bit, but soon he pays it no more heed, again resting his head on Mukuro's chest, yawning tiredly.

_Maybe again__,__ tomorrow_.

"I'm going to sleep. If you dare to do something _indecent_, bid goodbye with your precious manhood."

Hibari shifts position to make himself all comfortable before closing his eyelids. Mukuro dryly gulps, can't risk to make a move. The warning shows some good effect.

Not to the illusionist though.

* * *

-x-x-

Next morning, in Vongola headquarter's _rebuilt-for-the-umptenth-time_ kitchen.

It is simply a miracle that both the Cloud and Storm are patient enough to even come to the same place every day, just staring viciously before one of them (usually Gokudera) loses his temper and starts provoking the other. The rest is predictable. But today, there is a big, _big_ difference.

"Fuck! We are NOT going ANYWHERE with this! "

On that umptenth day, Gokudera got fed up. Everyday is the same loop over again, starting with a fight, ending with bunch of bills stacking on Decimo's desk. And he being scolded.

**_And_**_ again_, most importantly, they're nowhere near their original goals. At all. Suppose one can learn from books, but things just don't work out right. Gokudera just screws up and doesn't know where to fix, even if he glues his eyes on the recipes and follows every damn step.

Then Hibari, mainly because he can't read Italian so well.

"This is WHAT we're gonna do. No pissing off, no fighting, just freaking cook. I won't talk and you won't talk. Silently do our jobs. Deal?"

Gokudera probably has enough of it. But the Cloud isn't a man of deal. He doesn't deal, for he has to always be the superior.

"As long as you zip your mouth and stay away from my eyesight, I don't care. "

"That's ridiculous, we're in the same kitchen."

"If 'silently do the job' is what you're planning to do, go back to your house."

The Storm grits his teeth so harsh, hands curling into fists.

"Hibari, for once I want to make an _agreement_ with you."

The Japanese quirks a brow, beckons that he's listening. The silver-haired man let out a heavy, almost exasperasted sigh as if he is tortured by coming up with this idea.

"I cook my sushi, you see where I mess up. You cook your pasta, I see if you do anything wrong. Short notice, no sarcasm nor comment. How about that?"

The air thickens all uncomfortably.

Much to Gokudera's surprise, after a long, pregnant silence, Hibari lightly hums 'mm-hm' in agreement.

That doesn't sound too bad.

_There__ i__s always __some __way to solve the problem._

_._

_._

**.tbc.**


End file.
